Page 51
“Your legs are trembling,” he points out.
I can feel them shaking, but I can’t seem to make them stop. Instead, I grip his wrist and still his movements. “Fuck me,” I say quietly. “Gently.”
If he’s surprised by the request, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. The scars I’ve seen plenty of times before somehow seem even more prominent now. My attention settles on the one that cuts from his shoulder all the way to his hip, and without thinking better of it, I reach out and carefully trace the length of it with the tip of my finger.
“Who did this to you?” I ask.
All of a sudden, his hand closes around my wrist in an iron grip, and before I can pull away, he slams my arm down against the mattress beside my head.
Suddenly, I see a little boy—a prince, even—growing up in this magnificent castle with his father, the Beast. A monster who hurt him and somehow helped shape him into the man I’ve come to know.
I swallow hard, unable to keep myself from imagining what might have happened inside these walls long before I ever arrived. “I’m sorry someone hurt you,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t say anything, and I know from the hard set of his expression that he isn’t going to give me an answer, but the need to understand him is stronger than my better judgment. I try anyway. “How much of the story is true?”
His jaw clenches so tightly that I actually hear his teeth click together, and the anger that flashes across his face makes me want to scramble away from him.
“None of it,” he snarls.
For someone trapped naked underneath him and completely at his mercy, you would think I’d have enough sense to keep my mouth shut. Before I push him over the edge and he can’t control himself, but I’m desperate enough for answers that I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Talk to me,” I beg.
“I’d rather fuck you,” he says mildly.
He releases my wrist and pulls off his slacks, tossing them carelessly onto the floor before reaching for the bottle of oil, and when he slicks himself instead of his fingers, I realize immediately that he has no intention of preparing me.
I’m suddenly terrified again. “Wait! Rhys.”
His cock probes, the blunt head moving forward slowly. My attention locks onto him as the fear rushes back through me.
“I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says in a tone that suggests his restraint is beginning to waver. “Stop asking me about my childhood.”
He penetrates that tight ring of muscle, and although it burns, the pain isn’t unbearable.
“Okay,” I say, because I’m scared of what he’ll do if I don’t.
He inches forward until he’s completely buried. My mouth falls open when he strikes something deep inside me that sends an entirely different sensation through my body.
“All right?” he asks.
“Yes,” I moan.
My body is so overly sensitive that when he drips more oil down my crack, I lift my hips in an attempt to gain more friction. The movement makes him chuckle.
My eyes snap immediately to his face. He seems to realize that he’s let out a sound that wasn’t a snarl or a growl, but even with that realization, the smile doesn’t fade.
“I want you to come for me,” he murmurs as he begins moving.
I tug on my wrists, hoping he’ll let me go, and when he does, I immediately grab his shoulders so I have something to hang on to. “Okay,” I whisper against his ear, breathing him in because he smells so good. Like the herbs he grows and the flowers he tends—rosemary and jasmine.
Having him this close and being treated this gently fills some of the void inside me. I lift one hand from his shoulder to cup the side of his face before bringing my head up toward his, silently asking him to kiss me.
He doesn’t hesitate, covering my mouth with his, and when he finally draws back for air, I can’t help the reaction that tears out of me. “Oh, my God,” I gasp, thrusting my hips so my cock rubs against his stomach. “I like this,” I manage.
He shifts onto his knees, changing the angle so he can move deeper, and then picks up my cock, which is so hard it aches.
“Show me how much.”
